So many ways Sam has to pretend to be okay. So many ways he has to act like he didn't spend whole lifetimes in the Cage. So many instincts he has to crush down so that Dean won't look at him like he's insane. It still feels like he could turn around and Lucifer (the real Lucifer) would be there, hovering over him, murmuring to Sam in their shared Enochian, far fallen from the perfect language of other angels.
But he manages. He relearns the steps. He adjusts to having Dean in his space instead of the devil, and sometimes, he even tries to tell himself that Dean feels just as familiar as Lucifer would, if he was here. He never convinces himself, but he tries, for Dean.
He does everything he's supposed to. Walks the walk. Talks the talk. He's… never normal, that's outside their purview, but he's passable as Sam, brother and hunter and human. The part of him that is Lucifer's (in some ways, is Lucifer, and there's a little comfort in that. They were so intertwined in the end that not all of Lucifer can ever leave him. And he knows he must be able to feel it sometimes, a part of him sewn into Lucifer's grace, too.) is hidden away.
He does all of that, so he's allowed this one selfish need.
Dean has to have noticed Sam's complete disengagement from other people in a sexual way. No head turning for a hot waitress, no eyes lingering on a passing figure, and his 'uh huh, sure' completely performative when Dean points a woman out. He can tell it makes Dean uneasy, like he has some older brother duty to make sure Sam's getting laid, but thankfully, he hasn't done anything more than nudge so far. Maybe he thinks it's Hell trauma making Sam turn away from that.
He's only half wrong.
Sam closes his eyes. The shower is too small. He has to duck his head to get his hair under the spray. It's hot, though, soothing the ache in his shoulders and back when he turns to let the water pound against them. His muscles unlock slowly, relaxation sweeping through his body, and with it, the well-conditioned urge of arousal. He lets it simmer, heating up inside and out. When he reaches down between his legs, he's wet, the slick texture standing out against the water sliding down his skin. Sam coats his fingers in it methodically, angling himself to keep it from being washed off.
He keeps his eyes shut and lets his mind wander away. Somewhere dark and claustrophobic and yet, it feels like home. He feels like home.
Sam tumbles between memories. There's so many. His mind feels full to bursting trying to contain them all, but he'd never let a single one fade. There's gentleness in some memories, tender care and soft touches, but that's not what he craves right now.
A flash of another. The scent of blood. Lucifer's calm voice. Probing invasion in his abdomen that made him squirm and pant and-
Sam starts at the beginning, rubbing a slow circle over the head of his swollen dick.
Lucifer was so curious and tactile. He was always touching Sam, mapping out every detail of his body under the pads of his fingers. Even when it was no longer a body, but a soul's facsimile, he treasured it. He found each mole and scar and blemish and catalogued them. That took a while, but eventually, he knew every inch of Sam's skin.
The next step was obvious to him.
Lucifer sat on top of him, pinning his legs down to keep Sam from kicking or struggling. He slid his fingers up and down Sam's stomach. Sam could feel himself shaking, and at the time, it was equally fear and anticipation.
Every time they did this after the first, it was all anticipation.
Sam wished it was Lucifer's own blade that made the cut, but the knife he held instead was still beautiful. As sharp as a ray of sunlight cutting through a room, Lucifer lowered it to Sam's skin. He teased the edge down to Sam's navel, shaving more than a few hairs of with the razor edge on accident. Sam had held his breath without meaning to. The barely there scrape of the knife made his cock throb then as it did now remembering it. The first slice was small. Sam tensed and cried out at it. It was more surprise than anything. Being a hunter had already skewed Sam's perception of pain. Lucifer took advantage, widening the cut.
Sam touches his stomach. There's no scar. There wouldn't be. His body was long since freed by the time Lucifer started getting creative.
He presses his fingers to the spot anyway.
He can almost feel the way Lucifer's sunk in. Entering Sam where nothing was meant to go, except Lucifer had already made himself at home in Sam's bones. What was a gut wound to an archangel but an invitation? Lucifer fucked his fingers back and forth, easy as if he were getting Sam off. He slid them in deep and curled them in the same motion he did when seeking Sam's g-spot, dragging against the muscle as Sam threw his head back in an effort to handle the sensation.
Lucifer's fingers were bloody when he pulled them free again. He licked them clean, never breaking eye contact with Sam. Sam was trying not to drown in the pain. He hadn't yet learned to float above it, to let it spin out through him until he was nothing but nerves for Lucifer to delicately play. He wants that now, pressing his finger harder into his skin like he could break through by desire alone. His blunt nails would take longer to open up the wound than a knife, but if he tries hard enough... He tears his hand away and slams it against the shower wall. He regrets it a moment later, freezing and listening for Dean banging on the door. His brother, thankfully, doesn't show.
Lucifer's not here to put him back together. He has to remember that.
He'd stuck his fingers back inside Sam when they were clean, three of them, widening the hole. There was something keeping him from pushing his fingers between Sam's guts, the protective sac holding his organs in place. Lucifer took the knife again and as Sam screamed, he opened up the wound. Sam's done the same with his socks, holes worn into the heel that Sam pulled until they were so wide, his fist could have gone through, useless to hold his foot anymore. Lucifer stuck the knife in and cut deeper.
Sam knows how much pain he can take before he passes out, but not there, not in the Cage. There was no sleep, no unconsciousness, no reprieve from the never-ending captivity they were subjected to. Where Sam should have faded out, he was instead kept awake, fed the tearing of his flesh with perfect clarity.
He'd almost asked Lucifer to stop.
And then Lucifer stuck his hand inside Sam.
All there was, was blinding, horrible pain.
Until there was more. Until Sam could feel Lucifer's fingers stretching into his abdomen, brushing his organs. Lucifer reached his other hand in, eager with discovery. Sam was limp, unable to look down and see where he was being entered, but he felt the invasion of it. He intestines were pushed around nauseatingly to make room for Lucifer's hands. He was suddenly so aware of himself as meat.
And his cock kept twitching, begging for attention through every wave of pain. Lucifer caressed his organs lovingly. There weren't nerves there for Sam to know what Lucifer was doing exactly, but instead, he could feel what Lucifer could. He knew how his own insides squished and throbbed. His blood spilled hot down his sides, pushed by every beat of his still-hidden heart. Lucifer curled his hand around the rope of Sam's small intestine and tugged. The release of it into open air made Sam jerk, his mind rebelling against the sudden exposure. Every instinct in him was screaming that it couldn't happen, that he was going to die. The panic was momentary, followed by a crash of shocking calm. He looked down his body to see how Lucifer handled the parts of his precious vessel.
His guts felt warm where Lucifer laid them against his skin. Sam panted, intensely aware of his lungs expanding and deflating. Could Lucifer touch them? Would he?
Sam hoped so.
He brings his hand back to his abdomen, stroking up and down. He remembers the look on Dean's face a few hunts ago when Sam performed an impromptu autopsy on a corpse. How easily Sam opened up the body didn't bother him. Getting their hands dirty was all part of the job. How well Sam could pull out each organ without damaging it was what made Dean's expression twist. It was something like understanding, like pity. Sam could have tried to tell him that his time on the rack was nothing like what Sam had in the Cage, but what would be the point? Dean wouldn't believe him.
He trails a finger over his torso, marking out a familiar path. The knife went here, and here, and here, deeper and deeper, opening Sam up to Lucifer's gaze.
(In the weeks after his walk broke, Sam had hidden from Dean, once. A voice that was almost Lucifer's had curled through his senses. Ruby's knife had been solid in his grip. His skin had turned white under the tip, and then pink in the wake. He'd pressed down harder.
Licking his own blood off the blade, he'd been able to taste his angel. It had shocked him back to his senses, and he'd patched the shallow cuts up quickly.)
Lucifer wouldn't want him to hurt himself. That was all meant for him.
Sam ran his fingers up and down his dick, sinking back into memory in a futile attempt to sate his needs. If he closed his eyes, his fingers could become Lucifer's, slick with Sam's blood as he stroked him. His other hand was buried back inside Sam, making use of the empty space left by his disemboweling. Sam flashed between pleasure and pain until there was no difference between them.
"Can I have more?" Lucifer asked, that pleading voice that had once asked Sam to say yes. "I'll be gentle, I promise." Sam had choked out an answer, and he couldn't even tell what he'd said. Lucifer understood. He sank elbow deep up into Sam's body, grasping around, shifting Sam's insides aside.
Sam could feel himself through Lucifer's touch, hear his own whimpers reach Lucifer's ears, and see the viscera for how beautiful it was in Lucifer's eyes. His skin split like a flower blossoming, folds of muscle pried apart and kissed as Lucifer dug deeper. He looked at the wound like he wanted to crawl inside Sam, and Sam reached to pull himself open wider. Lucifer belonged there. Sam wanted to cradle him under his ribs and keep him there forever, feeling his grace writhe against his heart.
Sam puts his hand against his chest. He can feel his heart beating fast. The water is cooling. He's so close, and the deeper he loses himself in this memory, the more he can feel. He keeps his eyes closed, imagining that the warm water running down his body is his own blood.
Sam lifted a hand to weakly pull on Lucifer's shoulder. Lucifer went. His bloody mouth smeared a stain against Sam's lips, but it tasted like both of them. Sam was getting Lucifer dirty, too. His chest pressed to Sam's, skin to ribs, just barely kept from touching more of him by a mass of muscle and bone. Sam's heart beat out an endless amount of blood in Hell, puddling beneath him. The scent of iron drowned out everything, and Sam's old addiction played its part, arousing him even further. He rubbed his dick up against Lucifer's thigh, desperate to relieve the pressure.
Lucifer looked so pleased with himself. "You love it, don't you? I want to rip you open further," he murmured, "and swallow down every offering you make." He marked up every pristine part of Sam left. His teeth sank into Sam's shoulder until Sam's eyes rolled back with a moan. He thrust up against Lucifer, and Lucifer pushed back without thinking.
Only, where his cock would usually have brushed Sam's stomach and dripped precome over his belly, now it sank into him. Lucifer groaned loudly, forcing himself to stop as he felt the tip of his cock enter Sam. He was shaking from the effort of it, and all it took was Sam demanding, "fuck me, right there, where no one else ever has or ever will."
Lucifer's breath sped with excitement. He bit down on Sam's shoulder again. He pushed his hips forward. Blood spurted from the pressure. Sam could barely think.
He turns his head to the side, bracing his arm against the wall. He's right there. His cock sparks with pleasure with every small touch, swollen so fat between Sam's fingers. He opens his mouth against his arm, teeth digging in slow until it hurts. His hole aches, but not as badly as the rest of him. The memory of that first time is so strong. The agony of Lucifer fucking his wound reverberates through a body that never really felt that and wants it more than anything. The shove in and out where nothing was meant to go haunts him. The way his mind connected it to being stabbed, but so much better, so much more intense, makes him muffle a groan against his forearm.
(Sam had been stabbed since escaping Hell. He'd… done his best to downplay his reaction to that before Dean could see it.)
(He'd desperately humped his own hand while fingering his newly done stitches, imagining tearing them out and making the hole wider with his fingers.)
Lucifer was in ecstasy, and that feeling layered over Sam's own pain. Every thrust was hot and slick as Sam's body parted to make room for Lucifer. Lucifer's nails scraped against his ribs, digging in to the spaces in-between until the muscle began to give and bend inwards.
Lucifer's harsh breaths against his neck. The noises he made as he claimed more of Sam's insides for his cock. The building need to mark Sam inside and out.
Sam's out of the Cage, but he's still Lucifer's. Who could ever take him so thoroughly? Who was going to make a hole inside him just to fuck it? Who was going to love every bit of him, flay him open just to have more? He's ruined, and he doesn't care. He wants to have that back.
Sam comes as he does in his memory, grinding hard against his palm. He comes hearing the echo of a moan, Lucifer burying his face as his hips jerked hard into Sam. He comes feeling the white-hot sting of Lucifer's cock spurting inside him. His eyelids are burned over with the image of his wrecked torso, Lucifer slowly dragging his softening dick out from between thick muscle. It was covered in Sam, the tip still leaking come that mixed with the gore until it turned pink.
Sam whined, and Lucifer kneed up to straddle his face, letting Sam swallow the tip of his cock for another taste of himself, of the pleasure Lucifer got from fucking him. Blood and come slid down his throat as he washed Lucifer's cock off with his tongue. Lucifer turned around, Sam tilting his head to follow his cock. He rocked against Sam's mouth, still soft and slowly being sucked clean.
Sam's scream was muffled when Lucifer began opening his chest further. He got his wish, Lucifer's hands smoothing over his struggling lungs. He was so gentle with them. And Sam's heart, the ultimate prize. He held it like it comforted him to feel it beating. He relaxed, cupping Sam's heart in his hands, letting Sam think of nothing but getting every drop of blood off his dick and the insides of his messy thighs.
And eventually, when Lucifer was satisfied, he put Sam back together.
Next time, it had been Sam begging to feel Lucifer fuck his insides and Lucifer who gave in.
Coming down from the high of pleasure alone and out of the Cage hurts. Knowing that he might never feel Lucifer touch him that was again is torture.
He digs his nails into his skin one last time. No. One day, he'll figure out a way to get Lucifer free… or a way back to him. Until then, he can survive on his memories.
He hopes.